


The Shock of the Lightning

by AlElizabeth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-04-23 18:40:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14338650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlElizabeth/pseuds/AlElizabeth
Summary: While helping Dean dig up a grave in a lonely hilltop cemetery, Sam gets struck by lightning.





	1. Chapter 1

"It looks like it's going to start raining," Sam called to Dean from the edge of the open grave as his brother heaved shovelfuls of dirt onto the grass above.

"I'm not paying you to look at the sky, Sam," Dean growled, "Just keep a lookout for the ghost, would you?"

Sam sighed and scanned the surrounding area. No sign of anyone, living or dead; just a handful of crumbling gravestones in a small, hilltop cemetery.

"Okay," Dean grumbled, "You're turn to dig for a while."

Grabbing onto the edge of the hole, Dean pulled himself up. Sam jumped into the grave himself and started digging where his brother left off.

W

Thunder was rumbling in the distance and the first drops of rain began to fall as Sam reached out for help out of the grave.

"Do you think maybe it's the wrong one?" he asked as Dean grabbed him by the wrists and yanked him up.

"What are you talking about?" his brother asked.

"It can't be that deep," Sam told him, "There's no way. I think we've made a mistake."

"You," Dean growled, "You made the mistake. I'm trusting you to do the research correctly."

Sam sighed but didn't argue. If he did it would only make things worse.

"Give me that," Dean snapped and grabbed the shovel from his sibling.

Sam watched his brother jump back into the grave and continue digging.

Thunder sounded again, closer this time. Sam drew his jacket tighter around himself.

W

"For fuck's sake, Sam!" Dean snarled and threw the shovel out of the grave. It landed with a thud at Sam's feet.

It was raining heavily now, the bottom of the grave a muddy mess. Thunder crashed loudly overhead.

"Help me out," Dean demanded and reached up for his brother.

Sam bent down to assist Dean when sudden, searing, scorching pain engulfed him and he fell unconscious beside the grave.

"Sam?" Dean called, "Sam!"

Realizing something bad had happened- there had been a brilliant flash of light, a loud sizzling sound and the sudden stench of burnt ozone and flesh caused the older Winchester to panic.

"SAM!" Dean shouted as he struggled to get out of the open grave, "SAM, ANSWER ME!"

Clawing with his hands, digging his feet into the slippery sides of the hole, Dean managed to fight his way up and out of the grave and, on hands and knees, made his way to his sibling.

Sam's clothes were shredded, steaming in the rain; he lay unmoving, as though sleeping.

"What the hell happened?" Dean wondered out loud, just as he watched a bolt of lightning hit a nearby tree and split it into two, the wood creaking and groaning in protest, its leaves bursting into flame instantaneously.

Eyes widening with realization, Dean stared down at his brother and, knowing there was no way he'd be able to carry him down the hill to the road where the Impala was parked, fumbled his cell phone and called for the paramedics.

"Fire, police or ambulance?" the operator asked, as Dean struggled to figure out what he should do- this had never come across his training with his Dad- and snapped that he needed an ambulance, Goddamn it.

"What's your emergency?" the 911 operator he had been transferred to asked.

"My brother's been hit by lightning."

"Okay, you'll need to start chest compressions right away," the operator told him.

No asking him if his brother was alive or anything, just start those compressions.

Dean put his cell on speakerphone as the operator asked where he was and what he had been doing out in the middle of the storm.

As Dean spoke he grew more and more frantic. Sam didn't appear to have a pulse, his face pale, rain trickling over his chilled skin and into his hair.

"The paramedics are on their way," the operator assured Dean.

"Do you want me to stay on the line?" she asked.

"Can you help me?" Dean barked, his arms already aching from doing chest compressions non-stop for five minutes.

"No," she admitted, "But I-"

"Than I don't need you," Dean interrupted.

The frantic hunter looked up every couple of seconds, searching for the ambulance, muttering to his breath as he did so.

"Come on you bastards, come on now, we need you now."

Finally, after what seemed like an hour, Dean could hear the distant wail of sirens approaching slowly.

Still he continued the chest compressions, for all the good it would do, his arms screaming at him to stop, but he couldn't not now that he had started.

Dean watched as the ambulance pulled up to the bottom of the hill and two paramedics exited, ran to the back of the vehicle and grabbed the stretcher, slipping and sliding up the muddy hill towards the brothers.

Once they had reached the hunters, one paramedic took over doing chest compressions from Dean while the other prepared to check Sam's pulse, if there was one.

"How long ago was he struck?" the paramedic not doing chest compressions asked.

"Uh, twenty minutes ago?" Dean guessed.

"When did you start compressions?"

"Maybe fifteen minutes ago," Dean admitted, hating himself. He should have reached his brother sooner, started compressions earlier.

The paramedics didn't ask why there was an open grave behind the Winchesters; they simply focused on the task of caring for their patient.

Dean's eyes were drawn to the small screen propped above the stretcher that was supposed to show a person's heartbeat, the green line remained flat and lifeless.

"We're going to have to defibrillate," the paramedic not doing chest compressions told his partner.

His partner nodded and Dean watched silently, anxiously as they prepared the defibrillator; ripped open Sam's button up shirt and attached the electrodes, turned on the machine and waited for its prompts.

The paramedic who had been doing chest compressions crouched beside the hunter, poised to continue between the bursts of electric current.

"Try it again," the paramedic told his partner as he continued compressions.

They tried it again.

And again.

And again.

"We've got sinus rhythm," the paramedic not doing chest compressions announced and together they moved Sam onto the stretcher, strapped him in and began carefully wheeling him down the hill.

Dean followed at a trot, feeling cold and numb, something that had nothing to do with the chilly rain.

"We're going to take him to Springfield General," the paramedics told Dean as they loaded his brother into the ambulance and closed the doors, sirens wailing and lights flashing as they pulled away from the cemetery.

Dean stood where he was for a long moment, his brain trying to process everything that had taken place in the past hour.

Then, wiping a hand over his face, he crossed to the driver's side of the Impala and climbed in, telling himself that when Sam woke up he would ask forgiveness for being such a dick to him earlier.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean was forced to sit in the waiting room while his brother was in surgery. He was terrified that any minute a doctor would come out and tell him his brother was dead because, really, who survived getting struck by lightning?

"C'mon Sammy," Dean muttered under his breath as he paced the waiting room, dripping mud and water onto the tile floor, "C'mon Sammy, you can make it, I know you can, c'mon man. Don't leave me like this, please; I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

W

The seconds ticked by into minutes, the minutes into hours and still there was no word on his brother's condition. Dean paced the waiting room like a caged animal, looking up hopefully every time a nurse appeared, only to be disappointed when they called another name. He soon lost track of how many cups of crappy coffee he had drunk throughout the night.

Finally, exhausted from the lack of sleep and the increase of stress, the hunter collapsed into one of the stained waiting room chairs and shut his eyes, falling into a fitful slumber.

W

"-Sam Winchester?" a female voice broke through Dean's unconscious mind, "Family of Sam Winchester?"

Peeling his eyelids up, Dean sat up straight- his back protesting the sudden movement- and wiped a hand over his face.

"Here," he muttered, "I'm here."

A nurse with short, curly hair turned to him and gave a small smile.

"I'm his brother, Dean," Dean stood up and hurried towards the nurse, "Is Sam okay?"

"He's out of surgery," she told him, "But the doctor had to put him into a medically-induced coma as a result of his injuries."

Dean felt the blood drain from his face at the nurse's words.

"What?" he asked, "What do you mean?"

The nurse reached out and with a gentle hand, guided him down a hallway, away from the curious stares and eager ears in the waiting room.

"The lightning entered your brother's body through his left shoulder and exited through his right foot," the nurse told him, speaking quietly, "Dr. O'Brien had to amputate your brother's foot because it was too badly damaged. The injuries to his shoulder are severe and the arm may also need to be amputated as well."

Dean stopped, "You chopped off my brother's foot?"

The nurse nodded, looking both apologetic and sympathetic.

"The burns were too severe," she explained, as though to a child, "There was nothing the doctor could do to save the foot."

"But… Sammy's okay?" Dean stammered, struggling to wrap his mind around what was happening to his brother, "He'll be okay? I mean, not many people survived getting struck by lightning so he's already lucky, right?"

The nurse sighed, "I wouldn't call it lucky."

Dean blinked owlishly at her for a moment so she continued.

"Very few people survive lightning strikes, and those who do are often left with lifelong, debilitating disabilities as a result."

"No," Dean argued, "Not Sam. Not my brother. He's gonna be okay. He has to be. You… you're wrong."

"It's already a miracle he survived at all," the nurse told him, "He was in cardiac arrest, he went a long time without oxygen, he was badly burned, but he's still with us."

"But you need to be realistic about this," the nurse warned him, "There is a very real chance your brother will suffer serious complications from this."

Dean shook his head. He didn't want to be realistic; he wanted to go into Sam's hospital room and see his brother smiling, maybe make a joke, and tell him off for being such a jerk earlier. He wanted Sam to be unharmed and whole, despite what the nurse said.

"Let me take you to your brother," the nurse said, "Dr. O'Brien should still be with him."

Dean followed silently, angry with himself and the nurse, as she led him down a series of hallways he barely registered until they entered the Intensive Care Unit.

W

Stepping into his brother's hospital room, Dean saw that his brother was indeed unconscious. A monitor was the only sound in the room, pinging steadily with every beat of San's heart.

A middle-aged doctor was bent over the young man, muttering quietly to himself and taking notes on a piece of paper attached to a clipboard.

"Dr. O'Brien, this is Dean Winchester," the nurse spoke up, "Sam's brother."

The doctor straightened up and turned to the hunter.

"Did Shelley speak to you?" he asked, indicating the nurse.

Dean nodded.

"Can you tell me if Sam's going to be okay?"

"The very fact that your brother is still alive is amazing," Dr. O'Brien told him, mirroring the nurse's earlier words.

"But he will have a long and painful road to recovery," he added.

"The… The nurse," Dean began but paused, swallowing thickly. He couldn't take his gaze from his brother's face, peaceful; as though he were merely sleeping and would wake up if they spoke too loudly.

"She said Sam could have disabilities for the rest of his life?"

Dr. O'Brien nodded solemnly.

"Shelley told you we had to amputate his foot?"

"Y-Yeah," Dean muttered, "She did."

"When the lightning exited your brother's body, it caused severe damage to the tissue and nerves of his foot. There would have been no way to save it."

"Will he be able to walk?" Dean asked, feeling stupid for asking but he couldn't imagine Sam being stuck in a wheelchair for the rest of his life.

"There are a number of prosthetics nowadays available, and though none of them is cheap, your brother will be able to walk using one," Dr. O'Brien explained.

Dean nodded, feeling rather relieved that he wouldn't have to try and fit a wheelchair into the back of the Impala.

"What… What about his arm?"

The doctor lifted the blankets to reveal Sam's left arm covered from shoulder to fingertips in white bandages.

"I'd like to be able to save the limb," Dr. O'Brien told him, "But… truthfully, I'm not confident we will be able to."

"Is that it?" Dean asked, challengingly. Nothing was ever this cut and dry when it came to his injured brother. There was always something else, a cherry on top of an already shitty, shitty cake.

"Your brother is in a coma right now," Dr. O'Brien began; Dean nodded, he already knew this, "Because the pain he would be in if he was awake would be excruciating. So, I cannot tell yet what kind of neurological or mental damage was caused by the lightning strike."

"How long will Sam be like this?" Dean asked.

"At least a week," Dr. O'Brien told him, "I want his injuries to heal some before we wake him up. Then, we should be able to treat his pain with strong analgesics."

"Or you'll know if you have to take Sammy's arm too," Dean added crudely.

"Yes," Dr. O'Brien admitted.

Dean sighed and raked a hand through his hair.

"Okay," he muttered because he had nothing else to say.

The doctor nodded and left, going to see his other patients, leaving Dean alone with his brother.

The hunter sat down in a chair placed by his sibling's bed and peered sadly at Sam.

"Damn it, Sammy," Dean whispered, feeling tears sting his eyes, "Why did it have to be you? Why couldn't it have been me? I was the asshole… you were just trying to do your job."

Reaching out, Dean laid his palm over his brother's uninjured hand and prayed that the worst had passed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be kind. Leave kudos or a comment!


	3. Chapter 3

Dean didn't know what to do with himself. He had a week to wait until Dr. O'Brien woke Sam from his coma and he found out just how badly damaged his brother would be.

He stayed with Sam as long as could as visiting hours allowed. At night, he stayed in the motel across the street, his room giving him a view of the hospital.

For seven days and nights he prayed that Sam would pull through and by some miracle he'd recover. He knew there was no way to restore his brother's lost right foot, but he was determined Sam would keep his left arm.

The first night, he called Bobby. He didn't know what else to do and needed some support. After the grizzled hunter cussed both brothers out for being as stupid as to try and dig up a grave in the middle of a thunderstorm, Bobby offered to drive to the hospital. Dean insisted that he would be fine on his own but asked Bobby if he and Sam could stay with him while his sibling recovered.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Bobby had replied.

W

Dean set aside the National Geographic magazine he was flipping through when Dr. O'Brien walked into the room early on the morning on the eighth day, a needle in his hand.

"I'm going to add this to his IV," the doctor explained to the hunter, "And this will wake your brother up gradually. It could take a few hours but he should be conscious by this evening."

Dean nodded silently and watched, fascinated as the doctor added the drug to the port in the IV line.

"A nurse will come to check on Sam every hour to see how he is doing," Dr. O'Brien deposited the spent needle in the sharps container on the bedside table, "But if you see anything, use the call bell to let us know."

"I will, Doctor," Dean told him and reached out to hold his brother's uninjured hand.

W

The first indication that Sam was waking up came just after his brother had scarfed down a soggy sandwich he'd picked up from the cafeteria. The smell of old egg salad filled the room- much to Dean's chagrin- as late afternoon sunlight poured from the window and pooled on the crisp white linens covering his brother's broken and beaten body.

Tossing the cellophane wrapper from the sandwich into the trash can by the bed, Dean paused, hand still hanging in the air, as the blankets on top of his brother began to shift.

Eyes sharp, Dean watched with bated breath as Sam's legs moved up and down beneath the covers for a moment or two before going still again.

Leaning forward, the elder hunter reached out and squeezed his brother's hand encouragingly.

W

A half an hour later, Sam moved his uninjured arm. The limb flopped limply against the blankets. Dean carefully watched to see if his left arm would do the same; it didn't. Sam turned his head to one side and groaned but remained asleep.

"Take your time, Sammy," Dean whispered to his brother, "You're in no hurry."

Although he wanted more than anything for his brother to wake up, he knew his brother would be a great deal of pain when he did. Dean just hoped that Dr. O'Brien would be quick in responding with some strong painkillers when his brother needed them.

W

Just as night was beginning to fall, Sam opened his eyes for the first time since closing them in that lonely hilltop cemetery.

Dean shoved his dinner out of the way and leaned forward expectantly.

"Sammy," he murmured, "Hey, Sammy, it's okay."

Glazed hazel eyes stared straight through him and a bolt of fear went through Dean's heart. Almost without thinking about it his hand groped for the call bell and his thumb jabbed the red button a half a dozen times before a nurse hurried into the room.

"He's awake," Dean told the nurse and she nodded, "I'll page Dr. O'Brien right away."

"Sammy," Dean murmured and reached out to hold his brother's hand, "It's okay. I'm here. I'm right here."

The younger hunter closed his eyes again and groaned. Dean frowned and looked down. His brother's hand was trembling in his.

He's in pain, Dean thought.

"The doctor's on his way," the elder hunter assured his sibling, "He'll give you the good stuff; just hold on a little longer."

Moments later, the door to the room opened and Dr. O'Brien stepped inside, moving right up to the side of the bed.

"Sam? I'm Dr. O'Brien," he said, leaning down and peering at his patient, "Can you hear me?"

Sam's eyes opened slowly.

"You're in a hospital," the doctor explained, "You were struck by lightning a week ago."

Sam regarded Dr. O'Brien with the same thousand-yard stare he had given his brother.

"Are you in any pain?"

Dean thought it was obvious to anyone with eyes that his brother was in pain but he kept his mouth shut. He supposed the doctor had to ask.

Sam did not respond. His uninjured hand remained firmly in Dean's grasp, trembling.

"I'm going to give him something," Dr. O'Brien turned to Dean when he spoke.

"Why's he like this?" Dean asked. Of course his brother had just woken up from a weeklong coma, but the lack of response in his sibling had shaken him.

"Pain?" Dr. O'Brien offered, "Or the effects of the lightning? Let's get some medication into him and see how he is in a few hours. I want to take him and run some tests before long but I want to make sure he's comfortable first."

Dean nodded and watched as the doctor left the room.

He gently squeezed his brother's hand. Sam's eyes opened yet again and though they still remained glazed, they fell on Dean's face.

"It's gonna be okay, Sammy," Dean murmured, "Don't worry. It's gonna be okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave kudos or a comment if you're enjoying this story!


	4. Chapter 4

The hydromorphone Dr. O'Brien added to Sam's IV line worked almost instantly. Dean watched silently as Sam sighed and closed his eyes, his hand relaxing in Dean's though the tremors remained.

"We should let him rest for a while," the doctor advised.

Dean wanted to laugh. His brother had been resting for the past week. He wanted the doctor to take Sam to do his tests so he could tell them exactly what they were dealing with now. He wanted to be able to check Sam out of the hospital and head to Sioux Falls.

But he knew that if he rushed things, it would only hurt Sam. So Dean nodded and waited patiently, flipping through the same National Geographic magazine he had been all week even though he had read every article, for his brother to be all right.

W

An hour crept by slowly, Dean reading and re-reading the same articles in the magazine over and over again, before the doctor returned.

"Sam should be quite comfortable now," Dr. O'Brien told Dean and approached the younger Winchester.

"Sam? Sam, can you hear me?"

For a moment the hunter didn't respond and Dean wondered if the drugs had put his brother to sleep. Then, slowly, reluctantly, Sam opened his eyes halfway.

Dr. O'Brien bent down so that he was within Sam's line of sight.

"Can you hear me, Sam?" he asked.

Sam blinked slowly at the doctor.

"Can you understand what I'm saying?"

Sam's chin tilted up, ever so slightly, in what was clearly meant to be a nod.

"You are in the hospital," the doctor repeated his earlier explanation in case Sam had been in too much pain to focus on what he'd been told previously, "You were struck by lightning a week ago. Do you understand?"

Again Sam jerked his chin upwards.

"I'm going to do some tests now," Dr. O'Brien explained, "See how your are doing, okay?"

Sam closed his eyes, the hydromorphone making him groggy.

"He's gonna be okay now, right?" Dean asked, "He can understand you. His brain can't have been fried then."

Dr. O'Brien straightened up, "It is a good sign that he appears to know what I'm saying to him. But this is a tricky thing; very few people survive being struck by lightning so we don't know all the effects it has on a person's body."

Dean nodded.

"What about his arm? Do you think you'll have to amputate it?"

Dr. O'Brien shook his head; "The nurses tell me the tissue hasn't gone necrotic, as we expected, so we should be able to save it. Sam will most likely need surgery on it but just to remove any damaged tissue but I don't think it will call for a full amputation. With physiotherapy, your brother should have use of the arm again."

Dean nodded, relieved. Unfortunately the same couldn't be said for his right leg, now missing it's foot.

A nurse stepped into the room and assisted Dr. O'Brien with the task of wheeling Sam's hospital bed out the door and down the hallway.

Unsure of how long he would have to wait for his brother to return, Dean decided to give Bobby a call and keep him posted on what was going on.

The grizzled hunter answered almost instantly.

"Is he okay?" Bobby asked before Dean could get a word out.

"He woke up for a little while," Dean told him, "Dr. O'Brien's taken him for some tests right now. He says they shouldn't have to cut Sam's arm off."

"Thank God," Bobby muttered, "How're you holding up?"

Dean sighed, "I'm fine. I just want to get out of here. I hate hospitals."

"I know," the older hunter replied sympathetically, "But you just wait until the doc gives Sam the green light before you come this way, you hear me?"

Dean did, "I will, Bobby."

As much as he wanted to leave, he knew his brother needed to stay as long as Dr. O'Brien thought he should. He had no ideas of checking Sam out of here early.

"Good," the other hunter grumped. Dean heard another telephone begin to ring on Bobby's end and the grizzled hunter sighed, "Gotta go. Call me later when Sam's back from his tests?"

Dean told Bobby he would and ended the call.

Deciding he needed to stretch his legs, Dean left the room, assuming Sam would be out for a while, and went for a walk around the hospital while he waited.

W

Dr. O'Brien returned Sam three hours later; the younger Winchester appearing to be fast asleep as the surgeon and a nurse rolled his bed back into its proper position.

Dean, sitting in the visitors' chair with a donut and a cup of coffee he'd grabbed from the cafeteria, looked at the doctor expectantly.

Dr. O'Brien turned to the hunter, unsmiling.

"I have good news and I have bad news."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you will know if you've been following my stories, I am not a doctor or medical professional. I have knowledge of medical practices from watching TV, movies or the Internet, or the nurses I work with. If I have made any glaring medical errors, I apologize.
> 
> Please leave kudos or a comment!


	5. Chapter 5

Dean felt his mouth go dry and his heart rate increase at the doctor's words.

"What is it?" the hunter asked, his voice coming out in a whisper.

Dr. O'Brien moved the sheet away from Sam's left hand to reveal that the pinkie and ring fingers were both a dark purple hue.

"The damage to your brother's arm is worse than I thought. We will need to amputate those fingers as soon as possible to prevent anymore tissue death."

The doctor replaced the sheet, covering Sam's hand again.

"I had a colleague, a neurologist, take a look at Sam while I was running some tests and she discovered that the tremors he is experiencing are a direct result of the electricity that jolted his nervous system when he was struck. She doesn't think that the tremors will ease on their own and suggested trying him on benztropine to see if that helps."

Dean closed his eyes. He couldn't believe he was hearing this.

"You said there was good news," he told Dr. O'Brien.

"Yes," the doctor said, "There is good news."

Dean opened his eyes and looked at the older man, begging him to tell him something that would offset these devastating new developments.

"Your brother's memory was not impaired by his injuries. Both his long and short-term memories are intact."

Dean stared unbelieving at the doctor. This was the good news?

His brother had lost his foot, might lose his arm, and would have tremors like he had freaking Parkinson's disease for the rest of his life and the fact that his memory hadn't been scrambled was the only good news the doctor could give him?

Dean took a deep breath to keep his emotions in check.

"When are you going to do the surgery on Sam's arm?" he asked, very quietly.

"In the morning," Dr. O'Brien told him, "First thing."

Dean nodded and sat down, reaching out to grip his brother's uninjured right hand and squeeze the fingers that remained a healthy pink.

W

Dean decided not to call Bobby and let him know what the doctor had told him as he reluctantly returned to the room he was renting in the motel across the street from the hospital. At least, not until the morning, when Dr. O'Brien cut more pieces from his brother's injured limbs.

He wanted a beer- or maybe something stronger- but instead walked down sidewalk to the vending machine and bought himself a Pepsi.

"Goddamn it Sammy," Dean muttered to himself as he sat in front of the blank television screen, "Why did we have to keep digging that grave? Why didn't we just get back into the car when we saw it was raining too hard? Why didn't we just stop?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated!


	6. Chapter 6

Dean shoved his half-eaten cafeteria grilled cheese out of way as a nurse and Dr. O'Brien wheeled Sam's bed back into the room.

The doctor, sweat beaded on his brow, his green scrubs smeared with red in places, smiled, "He did great."

Dean nodded. Sam looked nearly the same as he had that morning, before he'd gone into surgery but for the new bandages mummifying his left arm from shoulder to fingertip.

"That's it?" Dean asked, "No more surgeries?"

The doctor shook his head, "While we were amputating his fingers, we took care of the rest of his arm. All he needs to do now is heal."

The hunter sighed with relief and brushed his brother's bangs back from his brow. That morning, before he had gone under the knife again, Sam had been in and out of consciousness, still quite dazed and groggy. Dean had decided not to tell him about everything that had happened until his brother was more lucid. Now that he didn't have to have more surgeries, and he could just focus on healing, Dean hoped his brother would regain his mental clarity quickly.

"Sam should wake up from the anesthetic soon," Dr. O'Brien told Dean, "If he's in pain, press the call bell."

The older Winchester assured the doctor he would.

"Oh Sammy," Dean murmured gently to his brother as soon as they were alone in the room, "I've got so much to tell you… not all of its good. But we'll make the best of it, we'll get through it together, just like we always do."

Dean paused, taking a large bite of his sandwich.

"You're a fighter," Dean continued, talking with food in his mouth, "You won't let this stop you."

W

Forty-five minutes later Sam's eyelids began to twitch.

Dean leaned forward and murmured encouragements to his sibling. He carefully squeezed his brother's uninjured right hand.

"C'mon Sammy," he whispered, "C'mon man, open your eyes. I know you can. C'mon."

His brother eyes twitched again, his fingers jittering against Dean's steady ones. Dr. O'Brien had arranged for Sam to start his new medication- along with something called 'pregabalin' for nerve pain- once he'd come out of surgery.

"Sammy," Dean whispered his brother's name, his face inches from his brother's, "Wake up, Sammy, c'mon."

Slowly, as though they weighed a ton, Sam's eyelids lifted halfway and the younger Winchester gazed tiredly at his brother.

Dean smiled and squeezed his brother's hand tightly.

"Atta boy, Sammy," he crowed.

"D'nnn," the raspy voice whispered, barely audible.

"I'm right here, Sammy," Dean assured him, "I'm not going anywhere."

"Huur'sss," Sam breathed, "Huur'sss."

"Okay," Dean murmured and reached with his free hand to press the call bell, "I'll get the nurse. She'll give you something for the pain."

Sam closed his eyes again, the lashes suddenly moist.

Dean frowned and grabbed a tissue from the box on the bedside dresser. He dabbed at his brother's face, shocked that his brother was crying and wondered just how much pain he was in.

The door to the room opened and a nurse appeared.

"Sam's awake but he's in a lot of pain," he told her, tossing the tissue into the garbage can beside the bed.

The nurse nodded and left.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean told his brother, a sharp pain in his throat making it difficult to talk, "We'll get you something for the pain."

The nurse returned, this time holding two plastic cups; one filled with water, the other containing two small, white capsules.

"Sammy," Dean squeezed his brother's uninjured shoulder, "Wake up, man. The nurse has some pills for you."

The nurse instructed Dean to use the buttons on the side of the railing to raise the head of the bed enough so that his brother could take the pills without choking. As he did as instructed, Sam opened his eyes again, his gaze glazed.

The nurse stood on the opposite side of her patient from Dean and spoke in a soft tone.

"Sam?" she said his name and his eyes slowly slid to look at her, "I'm going to give you a couple of pills. They'll help with your pain. Do you think you can take them for me?"

After a moment's hesitation the younger man jerked his head once. The nurse tipped the cup with the capsules against his lips, and then lowered it.

"Here's the water," she told him and brought the cup with water to his mouth.

Sam took a sip and swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly.

"Do you need more?" the nurse asked and gave him some more water.

Once Sam had had his fill, he closed his eyes and sighed.

Dean thanked the nurse but didn't put the bed back down right away. Sam needed to know what he was going to have to look forward to and Dean wanted to tell him sooner rather than later.

"Sam?" Dean leaned foreword and spoke at slightly raised volume, "You awake?"

His brother opened his eyes, all the way this time and looked at him without turning his head.

"I've gotta tell you some things, Sammy," Dean told him, finding his brother's uninjured hand again and gave it a squeeze, "And they're not all good."

W

Dean took a sip of the coffee he'd poured into the stupid Styrofoam cup and promptly burnt his tongue, badly.

"Son of a bitch!" he swore, glancing over his shoulder at the little girl who was starting at him, wide-eyed.

"Sorry," he muttered and fitted the plastic lid over the cup and slouched away from the coffee machine.

He found himself an empty table and sank into the hard metal chair. It was getting close to dinnertime at the hospital and the cafeteria was bustling with patients, family members, nurses and doctors all trying to get something halfway decent to eat before continuing on their own journeys.

Dean wasn't the least bit hungry. In fact, he really felt sick to his stomach. He'd reminded Sam about the lighting bolt that had struck him down, then, probably against his better judgment, told him exactly why he was in the hospital.

Whenever Dean closed his eyes, even if it was just to blink, he couldn't get the sight of his brother's face out of his mind: his pale face growing even whiter, the eyes large and disbelieving, mouth poised to deny what his older sibling was telling him.

Sam hadn't yelled, hadn't cried. He simply closed his eyes as though this was the dream, and refused to look at Dean again. Eventually the older brother had gotten up and left the room, his heart aching.

He knew Sam would come to grips with what had happened- he had no other choice- but right now he was still processing and Dean needed to respect that. Even though all he wanted to do was to hug his baby brother, have Sam cry on his shoulder, speak comforting words to him like he would do when they were kids and then everything would be okay again.

Dean knew that this was not like when they were kids and he would slap a Band-Aid on Sam's scraped knee or bumped elbow, kiss the top of his head and minutes later all hurts would be forgotten about. These wounds would not be healed overnight; this pain would not be eased with a kiss and a hug; the struggles had only just begun.

Dean jumped in his seat as his cell phone rang and vibrated in his pocket. Pulling it out, he checked the caller ID and swore; he'd forgotten to call Bobby.

"Hey," he answered listlessly, putting on no false pretenses.

"Oh good," Bobby grumbled, "I was starting to think you'd fallen of the edge of the Earth."

When Dean didn't reply right away, the veteran hunter asked, "Shit, what's wrong now?"

Dean, that pain in his throat again, told Bobby everything that had happened since he has last spoken to him.

"Sam'll be all right," Bobby assured him, "He's tough. This is a big shock for anyone. He just needs time to process."

"What if he hates me? He's the one who wanted to leave the graveyard and I just yelled at him! He wouldn't even look at me after I told him about… about…"

Dean hadn't realized he'd started crying, something that he would be extremely embarrassed to do in public- but then again, he was in a hospital and those around him were no strangers to seeing grown men break down in tears- but he couldn't seem to stop.

"Pull yourself together!" Bobby snapped, "Blubbering like a baby ain't gonna help your brother!"

Dean sniffed and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his shirt, took a large drink of coffee and nodded.

"You're right," he muttered.

"'Course I'm right," Bobby told him, "I'm always right."

"Now," he continued, "You leave Sam alone tonight. Don't go back to his room. Go straight back to the motel."

"But-" Dean began, only to be interrupted.

"Yer brother needs to think through this on his own," the older hunter told him, "And he can't do that with you hovering around him like some helicopter parent."

Dean sighed, "Okay… I guess I could do that."

"You will," Bobby corrected him.

"I'm just-" He tried again but was again stopped.

"Sam doesn't hate you. He may be angry, yeah, but he doesn't hate you. Neither of you could have known what would happen. He knows that."

Dean nodded even though Bobby couldn't see it.

"Go back tomorrow and don't mention it," the veteran hunter advised, "Just focus on getting Sam better."

"Okay," Dean told him, "I will."

"I really wanna see you two," Bobby told that and ended the call.

Dean chugged the rest of his coffee and left the cafeteria, walking out the front doors of the hospital and into the parking lot where he'd left the car. He felt a little bad for leaving Sam without saying goodbye, but he knew Bobby was right; his brother needed time to think things over and he didn't need him mother henning him all evening.

W

That night Dean ordered pizza and watched a Death Wish marathon on TV in his motel room and forced himself not to worry about his brother at all.

Sam was in good hands; Dr. O'Brien was a capable and competent surgeon and would take care of.

That night, when Dean laid his head down on the lumpy motel pillow to sleep, he had a dreamless slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave kudos or a comment!


	7. Chapter 7

Sam couldn't sleep.

He was in pain.

His left arm and right leg burned as though someone had poured gasoline over the limbs and then set them on fire. The pills the nurse had given him took the edge off, but only just. The idea of drifting off into the bliss of unconsciousness seemed ridiculous to Sam now. Besides the physical discomfort, Sam couldn't stop thinking about what Dean had told him.

He remembered digging up the grave, remembered how it had started to rain and that he suggested they leave. Dean hadn't wanted to go, angry, Sam guessed, that what should have been a routine salt-and-burn was becoming anything but. Sam recalled reaching down to grab Dean, help him up from the hole they had dug, then, feeling a white-hot pain envelope his body and then nothing, darkness.

Sam knew he should be grateful to be alive. Very few people survived getting struck by lightning. But, after what Dean had told him what the doctor had had to do, Sam didn't feel very lucky at all.

Glancing down at his body shrouded in the white hospital sheets, Sam reached out with his uninjured right hand and gripped the sheets, slowly drawing them upwards to reveal his feet- or his left foot and the place where his right leg ended just above his ankle- and drew his hand back quickly. He closed his eyes and forced himself to stay calm but his breath was coming in short bursts, his heart pounding in his chest, sweat beading on his brow.

His anxiety only seemed to intensify the pain and he groaned out loud. Eyes still closed, Sam searched blindly with his right hand for the call bell that would summon a nurse. He found it, Dean had looped it around the bed rails before he left, and pressed down on the button, hard.

The sound of light footsteps approaching made Sam open his eyes just in time to see a wisp of a girl enter the room, wearing scrubs the colour of cotton candy.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, approaching the bed.

"Can I have some more medication?" Sam asked, gritting his teeth.

The nurse checked his chart and shook her head, "Not for another couple of hours, I'm sorry."

Sam let out a breath and closed his eyes again.

"I can see if I can give you something to help you sleep," the nurse suggested and Sam nodded without looking at her. He listened to her footsteps as she left the room.

"Keep it together," Sam muttered to himself and stared at the ceiling for a long moment before gazing downwards, at his hands. One looked as it always did, the other mummified with bandages and missing a few fingers, both trembling uncontrollably.

A lump formed in Sam's throat suddenly. He tried to swallow it and failed.

Why hadn't he been more forceful with Dean? Why hadn't he told Dean they needed to stop? No, demanded they stop until the storm had passed.

Now, because he hadn't done as he should have, he was paying the price. What must Dean think? There was no way he could hunt anymore. He was useless, a liability.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Sam muttered.

Approaching footsteps alerted the young man to the nurse's return. She held two plastic cups in her hand, one with water, the other with a pill.

"Here you go," she handed Sam the cup with the pill in it, "Hopefully this helps."

Sam threw his head back, swallowed the pill, ignoring the water.

Trying to find a comfortable position, Sam closed his eyes and tried to imagine what he would do now that he was unable to hunt. Go back to school? That was out of the question. Research? Maybe, but Dean could do that without him.

Sam didn't even realize it when sleep overcame him, coming quickly and silently and within moments of taking the nurse's pill he was unconscious, dreaming dreams tinged with the pain searing along his nerves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave Kudos and a Comment if you're enjoying this story!


	8. Chapter 8

"You look like you need this more than I do," Dean smiled slightly and offered his Styrofoam cup of coffee to Sam the next morning as the younger Winchester picked at his bland hospital breakfast.

"Thanks," Sam mumbled and took the cup from his brother, and brought it, trembling to his lips.

"How're you feeling?" Dean asked tentatively.

Sam lowered the cup of coffee, "Truthfully? Like crap."

Dean nodded. That was completely understandable and appropriate to the situation.

He watched his brother shift awkwardly in bed, frowning as he drew his knees up, nearly hitting them against the wheeled table upon which his breakfast sat. The cup in his right hand titled sideways, dribbling coffee onto the crisp white linens.

"Damn it," Sam muttered and Dean took the cup from him, saving the sheets.

"Don't sweat it," his brother muttered, reaching out for the call bed dangling from the bedrail, "We'll get a nurse to bring new blankets."

Sam sighed and closed his eyes, dropping his head onto the pillow.

"Are you okay? Are you in pain?" Dean's voice asked.

Sam shook his head. He had only just started showing his brother how much of a nuisance he was going to be.

"You can go, you know," Sam told Dean, "You don't have to stay."

"Go? I just got here?" his brother commented, confused.

Sam opened his eyes and turned his head to look at Dean.

"I mean it, Dean. It was my fault this happened in the first place. I'm going to be a burden now, with this," Sam swept his right and towards his leg, "There's no way I can hunt."

Dean was shaking his head, even as Sam was speaking.

"Don't be stupid," he scolded, his expression fierce, "If anyone's to blame for what happened, it's me. I didn't want to leave until we'd dug up that grave, even though I knew the weather was getting bad."

Sam just looked at him.

"And you are not a burden," Dean nearly growled, "You never have been and never will be. We'll figure things out. There are ways to get around this; they have prosthetic limbs now, for one, and for another, even if you can't go hunting, I need someone to do all the research."

"Dean-" Sam began but his brother shook his head, smiling a little.

"You know how I feel about books and microfilm," he told his younger sibling, "I need you to do all that nerdy stuff."

Sam opened his mouth again, perhaps to try and argue again, but a nurse appeared.

"Is everything all right?" she asked.

"Can we get some new blankets?" Dean asked, "There was a bit of an accident."

The woman nodded and left the room.

"Dean-" Sam spoke as soon as they were alone again.

The elder Winchester held up a hand, "I'm staying right here until Dr. O'Brien gives you the OK to leave and when he does, you're coming with me. Got it? This isn't up for discussion."

Sam lowered his gaze, wanting to tell Dean he didn't know what he was getting himself into.

"Now, just shut up and finish your breakfast."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave Kudos or a Comment if you want more!

**Author's Note:**

> Story title comes from a song by Oasis.  
> Please leave kudos or a comment!


End file.
